Stealing Shadows

EIGHT

After he dropped off Cassie at the garage, Ben had a brief meeting at his office with the public defender about an upcoming case, then fielded several calls from concerned citizens regarding the murders.

Or, more specifically, what he was going to do about them.

His job demanded tact and patience, and he used both. But as he hung up the phone after the third call, he was uneasily aware that the mood of the town was already beginning to shift from panic to anger.

And there were too damned many guns in too many angry hands.

Knowing that Eric Stephens would be calling him soon to find out what he should print in the newspaper in response to citizen demands for official advice on how to be safer, he began jotting down a list on a legal pad. Matt would be asked first, of course, and he would offer these same practical suggestions before getting impatient and telling Eric to "ask Ben" so he could get back to his investigation.

Matt usually knew the right answers but seldom trusted his own instincts. Sometimes it worried Ben.

Janice buzzed from her office. "A call, Judge. It's your mother."

"Thanks, Janice." He picked up the receiver. "Hi, Mary. What's up?" He had called his mother by her name – at her request – from the time he was a boy. The habit was so ingrained now, he seldom even thought about it.

"Ben, these awful murders…" The little-girl, breathless voice that his father had at first found charming and then, as the years passed, utterly exasperating, was filled with worry and horror. "And Jill! The poor, poor thing!"

"I know, Mary. We'll catch him, don't worry."

"Is it true Ivy Jameson was killed in her own kitchen?"

"I'm afraid so."

"And Jill in her shop! Ben, what kind of monster could be doing this?"

Avoiding the obvious retort that if they knew that, the monster would be more easily captured, Ben said patiently, "I don't want you to upset yourself, Mary. You've got a good security system and the dogs – keep them with you when you're out in the garden."

"It's just that I'm so far from town," she said.

Ben started to repeat that she would be fine, but then remembered his missed opportunity to warn Jill. Could he live with himself if something like that happened again? "I'll tell you what. I should be finished here by five at the latest. I'll come out to the house and check all the locks, make sure the security system is working properly, all right?"

"And stay to supper? I'll fix that chicken dish you like so much."

He thought fleetingly of his half-formed intention to call Cassie and offer to bring Chinese takeout to her place that evening, and bit back a sigh. "Sure. That sounds great, Mary. I should be there between five-thirty and six."

"Bring some wine," she chirped merrily. "See you then."

"Right." Ben hung up the phone and rubbed the back of his neck wearily. He didn't feel a bit disloyal to his father in wishing his mother would find a kind widower and remarry. She needed a man around, and failing a romantic interest, she naturally turned to her son. For everything.

It wasn't a role Ben enjoyed.

Growing up the only child of a young, emotionally volatile mother and a much older, coldly distant, manipulative father, he had, more often than not, felt like a punching bag. It hadn't helped that his own personality was an uneasy mixture of his genetic heritage; every bit as emotionally sensitive and impulsive as his mother, he had also inherited his father's intellectual detachment, innate wariness, and ability to cloak his feelings behind either charm or coldness.

The mix made him a good lawyer.

He wasn't at all sure it made him a good man.

He was certain it made him a lousy lover.

Jill had deserved better. All she had wanted from him had been emotional closeness, an intimacy beyond the physical, and since they had been seeing each other for several months by that point, she had certainly been entitled to ask.

In response, he had only grown cooler and more distant, burying himself in work and offering her less and less of his time, his attention. Himself.

Even then Ben had realized what he was doing, yet he'd been powerless to do anything else. He had valued her love, but her conspicuous need of him had made him feel obligated. Not obligated to commit himself to her, but to open himself to her, and it was something he was simply unable to do.

He didn't know why that was true. But he did know that Jill had not been the only woman in his life whose attempts to get closer to him had been rebuffed, only the most recent.

After weeks of distancing himself he had coolly suggested that their relationship was simply not working. Jill hadn't been very surprised, and she hadn't subjected him to an emotional scene, but her unhappiness had been obvious.

She had deserved better.

Ben felt that he'd abandoned her twice. First because he hadn't been able to love her, and then before her death, when a warning from him might have made a difference.

"Judge?"

He looked up with a start to find his secretary standing in the open doorway. "Yes, Janice?"

"The sheriff called while you were on with your mother. He wants you to come by his office before six if you can. Says he's found out something interesting about a piece of evidence in these murders."

"Tell Sheriff Dunbar," Cassie said immediately. A prediction about dying at the hands of a madman would be terrifying enough to live with normally, she thought, but with a serial killer stalking the town, it became more than imperative that Abby take some steps to protect herself. And even though they had just met, Cassie had seen too many scenes of violence recently not to feel a chill of fear for Abby.

Abby's smile wavered even more. "What makes you think I haven't already?"

"A hunch."

"Pretty good one."

"Why haven't you told him?"

"Because he wouldn't believe it. He's an atheist, did you know that?"

Cassie shook her head.

"Yes. He goes to church because it's politically expedient, but he considers religion nothing more than myth and superstition." She paused, then added, "In other words, on a par with psychic ability."

"If there is no God, there can be no magic," Cassie murmured.

"Something like that."

Cassie sighed. "It's so difficult for most people to believe that it's just another sense, like sight or hearing. That they don't have it because nothing in their genetic makeup or experience triggered that part of their brain to begin working instead of lying dormant. I have black hair and gray eyes and psychic ability. All perfectly normal for me, all handed down in my family for generations. If they could just understand there's nothing magical about it."

"Matt will probably never understand," Abby said. "It's just too alien to him. He wouldn't be listening to you at all if it weren't for Ben. But even when they were kids, Ben was always the one trying new things and Matt always followed Ben's lead." She lowered her voice. "Plus, you knew we were seeing each other, and that shook him up more than he'll admit. But he's not at all inclined to put any faith in psychic ability."

"Surely he'd heed a threat to you?"

"He'd think Miss Melton was just trying to scare me – for some undoubtedly mercenary reason. He never knew your aunt, and he'd never believe how upset she was when she told me, how reluctant."

Cassie shook her head. "That's the part I don't understand."

"You mean, why she'd tell me I was doomed?"

"Exactly. As a rule, prophecies tend to herald some kind of tragedy, but no responsible psychic would offer such a warning to someone if there was nothing they could do to change a terrible fate." Cassie kept her voice matter-of-fact.

Abby frowned. "I hardly knew her, of course, but I got the distinct feeling it was something she didn't want to tell me. She seemed to force herself to get the words out. And she kept repeating that the future was never static, that human will could influence fate."

"Then she thought you could change what she saw."

"Or else just wanted to soften the blow."

Cassie shook her head. "If that were the case, why tell you at all? I can't believe she was cruel, and to offer you a bleak and unalterable vision of the future would definitely be cruel. No, my guess is that she told you because she thought if you knew, you could do something to avoid the fate she saw for you."

"Such as?"

"I wish I knew. Sometimes avoiding an event is as simple as turning left instead of right at the next traffic light you encounter." She sighed. "I'm sorry, I wish there was something more helpful I could tell you, but even if I had my aunt's gift, I'd still have to interpret what I saw. There are so many possible outcomes for any situation."

"That's what your aunt said."

"I don't know what I'd do in your shoes," Cassie said. "But telling the sheriff would be a good start. He told me he'd known a few people who were deceived by psychics, but surely he'd pay attention to a warning concerning you, especially when it was given by a woman with nothing to gain."

"He's more likely to get mad at me for taking the warning seriously. To him, it's always some kind of con." Abby paused, then added, "He's convinced you're conning them."

"I know."

"He's a good man. But he can be stubborn as hell."

Cassie smiled. "His mistrust doesn't bother me much. Or hasn't so far. So far, it hasn't been costly."

"You think it will be?"

"If I manage to pick up some useful information and he ignores it because he doesn't trust me… you bet it could be costly." She shook her head. "But right now I'm more concerned about you. Reading the good sheriff told me more than you'd probably like about your personal life. I know you have a husband you're separated from, and I know he's capable of violence. Add to that one maniac who's killed three women so far, and I'd say it might be a good time for you to take a vacation and go lie on a beach somewhere."

Abby's unsteady smile returned. "And what if my leaving here and going somewhere else is just another step toward my fate?"

"That's a possibility. But I'd have to say the odds are more in your favor on that beach."

"Maybe. But I can't leave."

"Then at least tell the sheriff. If you can't make him believe that my aunt could see into the future, at least convince him her warning frightened you. Maybe he can take steps to make your life safer."

"And maybe it would just be one more thing for him to worry about. I'm being careful. And that's all I can do."

Cassie admired her calm. Since she had lived often with the knowledge that some madman could possibly zero in on her, that her odds of becoming a victim were better than most, she knew only too well how debilitating that constant threat was.

Even more, she knew how it felt to live with a prophecy of doom. She almost told Abby, almost confided that her only experience with precognition had been a vision of her own fate that promised violence and destruction. But in the end she kept that knowledge to herself.

She had run three thousand miles only to find herself once again entangled in an investigation of crimes of violence; for her, running had not been an escape. There was nothing to be gained by telling Abby that.

"Do you have a dog?" she asked instead.

"No."

"Maybe you should get one. Or borrow one."

"Do you have one?"

Cassie smiled. "No. But Ben said I should get one – and he was right. Look, do you want to take a trip with me out to the animal shelter?"

"The coins," Matt said.

"What about them?" Ben sat down in one of the visitors' chairs in front of the sheriff's desk.

"We may have caught a break with them. The silver dollar found in Becky's hand turns out to be a pretty rare specimen. I don't understand the technical details, something about a flaw in the mold. They were never circulated, and only a few thousand were minted before the mistake was caught."

"A few thousand?"

"I know it sounds like a lot, but they all went to collectors, Ben, and they're very valuable."

"Does that mean they're traceable?"

"It means they might be. I've got somebody working on that now."

"How about the other coins?"

Matt shook his head. "We're still checking on those, but they look damn close to mint quality to me. If so, if he's using only uncirculated coins, then they've pretty well got to be from somebody's collection."

"We have any coin collectors in town?"

"Yeah, several that we know of. It isn't exactly an uncommon hobby. We're quietly pulling together a list."

"And then?"

"Start asking questions, as discreetly as possible. I don't want everybody in town knowing that coins are part of the murder investigation, so we've cooked up a story about a stolen coin collection. It won't fool anyone for long, but with luck it'll give us a head start."

"Maybe not much of one," Ben said. "From what I've been hearing today, rumors are already circulating that the victims were holding something when they were found."

"Shit."

"We both knew it was just a matter of time."

"Yeah, but I was hoping for days rather than hours. Dammit, how did that get out? My people have been threatened with fines and/or jail time if I find out anybody discussed this investigation outside the office."

Ben shrugged. "Osmosis. If there's a secret in this town, it will get out. Guaranteed."

Matt scowled at him. "That psychic of yours hasn't been talking, has she?"

"I doubt it. When are you going to get off her case, Matt? She's done nothing except try to help."

"Like that business a few hours ago? The killer's right-handed and probably tried to kill himself at some point by slashing his wrists?"

"You didn't believe her?"

"No."

"Tell me you at least added 'right-handed' and 'possible attempted suicide scar' to your list of identifying characteristics."

"I did. But I'm not expecting either to help. Right-handed I'd already gotten from Doc Munro anyway, a fact he gleaned logically from the wounds. As for that supposed scar – this is a town where more than half the men work in mills and plants, and injuries to the hands and lower arms are common. I think she realized that. I think she guessed right-handed because it's likely, and added the scar in for color."

"What is she going to have to do to convince you she's genuine?"

"A lot more than she has done."

Ben rose to his feet, shaking his head. "You're so damned stubborn. It'll cost you one day, Matt."

"Maybe. But not today. I'll call you if we find out anything else."

"Do that. I'll be out at Mary's this evening, but I don't plan to stay more than a couple of hours."

"She nervous?"

"Of course. I promised to check out her security system."

"Tell her I'm stepping up the regular patrols out there as of tonight."

"I will. Thanks."

"Don't mention it." Matt smiled faintly.

Ben lifted a hand in farewell and left the sheriff's office. Not one to put off unpleasant duties, he drove out of town to the house where he'd grown up. His father had insisted on calling the big, bastard-Tudor house and its hundred acres of rolling pastureland an estate, but Ben refused to.

He also refused to call it home.

He pressed the button on the intercom rather than ringing the doorbell and wasn't surprised when his mother's cheerful voice bade him enter. The door wasn't locked. However, since he was greeted in the foyer by two enormous mastiffs, it could hardly be said the house was unprotected.

"Hey, guys." He patted the broad, heavy heads of the two dogs who were clearly delighted to see him. His mother had named them Butch and Sundance, and either would instantly die to protect her, but otherwise they were placid and friendly dogs who enjoyed familiar visitors.

They walked on either side of Ben as he went through the house to the kitchen, where he found his mother.

"The breeder has a new litter of puppies," Mary Ryan said as soon as they came in. "You should get one, Ben. You love dogs and they love you."

"I don't need a mastiff in my apartment," he told her, patient with an old argument.

"You could pick a smaller breed."

"I don't need a dog in my apartment. With my hours, it wouldn't be fair to keep any kind of pet."

She sent him a glance from her position at the center work island, where she was chopping ingredients for a salad. She was a tall, slender woman who had passed on to her son her own gleaming dark hair and hazel eyes. Her little-girl voice was incongruous; a husky, smoky voice would have been more in keeping with her looks. She was not yet sixty, and looked twenty years younger.

"You need a companion, Ben," she said. "You spend too much time alone."

"You haven't seen my workload lately," he retorted. She was, of course, discussing his wifeless state, though she invariably approached the subject indirectly. Knowing she would go on and on discussing it unless he distracted her, he set the bottle of wine he'd brought on the counter, took off his suit jacket and draped it over a barstool at the island, and said, "I'll go ahead and check all the windows and doors, all right?"

"Supper will be ready in twenty minutes."

He hoped the subject was going to be dropped, but when they were sitting at the informal breakfast table half an hour later, she brought it up again.

"A kitten, then. Maybe two of them. Cats are quite happy being left on their own for hours, and at least there'd be someone for you when you came home."

Ben sipped his wine to give himself a moment, then said calmly, "Mary, I promise you I don't lack for company. I've just been very busy lately and haven't had much time for dating."

She grimaced slightly when he bluntly replaced cats with women, but followed his lead to ask a direct question of her own. "What about Alexandra Melton's niece?"

He was startled. "How the hell did you hear about her?"

"Louise told me. You know we always do the flowers for the church on Saturday. She said she'd seen you at least twice with Alexandra Melton's niece, that there was no mistaking the girl. Is she as interesting as her aunt was, Ben?"

"I hardly knew Miss Melton."

"And her niece?"

"I barely know her."

"But what's she Me?"

Ben gave up; Mary, for all her childish voice and moods, could be as relentless as water dripping on stone when she wanted something. "She looks a lot like Miss Melton, yes. Black hair, gray eyes. Smaller, though, and more fragile."

"Alexandra was a bit fey. Is her niece? And what is her name anyway?"

"Her name is Cassie Neill." Ben frowned. "I wasn't aware you knew Miss Melton except by name."

"We talked a few times over the years. For heaven's sake, Ben, you can't live in a town this size and not know most of the people, not if you've been here nearly forty years."

He nodded but said, "What do you mean by 'fey'?"

"Well, just that. She knew things. Once, she told me to hurry home because Gretchen – Butch and Sunny's mother, you remember her – was having her puppies and there was trouble. There was too. I lost her and had to hand-rear the boys."

One of the boys thumped his tail against the tile floor, and the other yawned hugely as Ben glanced at them. Looking back at his mother, he said, "I'd heard a few stories about her seeming to know things and didn't really believe them. But Cassie says her aunt was supposed to be able to predict the future."

"Then maybe she could. Can Cassie?"

Ben shook his head. "No."

"Because you don't believe it's possible, or because she told you she couldn't?" Mary asked, intent.

"Because she told me she couldn't." Ben didn't see any reason to tell his mother that Cassie's psychic skills lay in quite another direction.

Mary was disappointed. "Oh. I was hoping maybe she could."

"So she could tell your fortune?" Ben asked dryly.

Mary lifted her chin. "As a matter of fact, Alexandra did that. After the thing with the puppies, I asked her if she could tell me anything about my future. She sort of laughed, and then she said that because of my son, I'd meet a tall, dark, and handsome man I'd fall madly in love with and soon marry."

It sounded so much like the sort of stock prediction common in sideshow fortune tellers' tents that Ben could say only, "Oh, for God's sake, Mary."

"It might come true, you don't know."

Ben sighed. "Sure it might."

She stared at him. "You know, son, you are far too cynical even for a lawyer."

Since she called him "son" only when she was seriously annoyed with him, and since Mary annoyed with him could lead to uncomfortable interludes in his life, Ben said contritely, "I know. Sorry, Mary. I'm just not sure I believe in precognition, that's all." And it was the truth, even if not all of it.

Somewhat mollified, she said, "You should open up your mind, Ben. Your imagination."

"I'll work on that."

She eyed him. "You're just humoring me."

"For your sake, I hope Miss Melton's prediction comes true. If I notice a tall, dark stranger lurking around, I'll definitely invite him here for supper."

"Now I know you're just humoring me." But she seemed more amused than annoyed.

Accustomed to her swift changes of mood, Ben merely said, "Not at all. Fix this chicken dish for him, and I can guarantee he'll be impressed. You're a great cook and you know it."

"Umm." She sipped her wine, her eyes bright as she watched him across the table. "Can Cassie cook?"

"I wouldn't know."

"You like her, don't you?"

"Yes, I like her." He kept his voice patient and matter-of-fact. "No more and no less." Liar. "Stop matchmaking, Mary. The last time – " He bit off the rest, but it was too late.

Mary's face changed, and her eyes filled with quick tears. "I was so hoping you and Jill would stay together.

She was such a sweet girl, Ben. Even after you broke up she came to visit me and talk about you…"

He hadn't known that. It seemed that Cassie had been right yet again when she had told him that Jill was an ex-lover not yet ready to let go. "Mary – "

"Who could have done that to such a sweet girl, Ben? And Ivy and that poor girl Becky? What's happening to this town? Who will that monster kill next?"

"Everything will be all right, Mary."

"But – "

"Listen to me. Everything will be all right." Recognizing the signs of rising hysteria in his mother, he set himself to the task of reassuring her. He kept his voice level and calm, his words encouraging, and refused to allow her to work herself into a state of panic that would demand sedatives and his presence in the house overnight; it was a condition he knew her quite capable of achieving.

And not for the first time he felt a flash of reluctant sympathy for his dead father.